He sat and watched in a detached manner as each of his clawed fingers traced in blood the keys and seals necessary for him to gather the energy he needed. The blank canvas of the young man’s back was almost full of the strange jagged patterns. The rest of his body was laced with fine, linear cuts, which had no purpose except to spill the victim’s blood. The demon smiled grimly. Of all the necessities of his existence, this was one of the ones he enjoyed least.

He rolled the boy over and tilted his chin up with a bloody claw. The shallow breathing was the only sign of life that his victim gave. The demon lowered his head on his long, muscular neck, brining his face close to the boy’s. Gently, carefully, he covered the human mouth with is own, and slowly began to inhale.

Light began to run down the boy’s skin toward his face, where it then obligingly entered the demon’s mouth. The demon broke off and exhaled the air taken from the almost-dead lungs. The boy began to stir in his grasp, and his eyes began to flutter. Eventually they opened, and the glassy orbs focused on his attacker.

I could make him my minion, the demon thought as the boy began to try to reach up with a bloody hand. All I have to do is give him his own energy back.

No, that’s not what I want. That’s what the old serpent wants, and I’ve stopped listening to him, remember?

He put his lips on the boy’s again and inhaled, this time with more force. The light began to stream again, this time brighter and with quicker pulsations. The boy managed to lift his hand up, touching the demon’s face in a strange, reluctant caress. Then the light disappeared abruptly, and the human went limp, now totally dead.

The demon stood on his bent, dog-like legs and brushed the blood away from his mouth with his hand. He regretted what he had done, but only a little. He kicked at the gun he had knocked out of the boy’s hand and began to walk down into the alleyway. As he walked he changed shape, appearing now as a scruffy mutt of a dog. He looked back one more time before disappearing into the shadows.

I hate Mondays.

“Levantas, Boss…”

The lovely, antique alto of the demon’s personal assistant woke him later that same morning. He groaned and pulled the covers higher over his head. He silently wished the man who invented the modern Monday to a private hell as far away from his own as possible.

“Perdona me, Boss,” she said, “But it can’t wait.”

He groaned and rolled over under the covers, muttering curses not meant for human ears.

“All right,” he said at length, “let me put a face on.”

She left. He flipped the covers back and sat up in bed. He rubbed his face with his squeaky clean hands (even demons take showers) and stretched his elongated jaw in a yawn. He stood up and began to stretch his muscular, mammalesque limbs. With a thought, he changed into a human, and proceeded to dress himself.

Five minutes later, he emerged into the living area of his small home looking like an impeccably well groomed, tall, and very handsome man. He wore Dockers and a white button-up shirt, but remained barefoot in his own home. His assistant, Maggie, was typing on a computer in the corner that was carefully shielded from sunlight. For a moment he considered throwing open a window just to irk her. She wouldn’t die, of course. That was a myth. But vampires did burn very easily, and he decided it was probably best to keep this one in a good mood this morning.

She glanced up at him before returning to her work. “Eat now, if you want to. It’s going to be a long day.”

He shook his head and walked over to her, looking at the screen over her shoulder.

“What’s all the hullabaloo?” he said, running his eyes over the long list of messages in the inbox.

“We had an extra hit last night.”

He shrugged. “It’s Monday. Heck, even Doorman has started making his hits on Monday. Who was it?”

“I take it you made your hit then.”

He eyed her, knowing that she wouldn’t continue until he answered.

“Yes. You should know by now.”

“Foreman’s alley?”

“Yes again. Why do you ask questions you know the answers to?”

She shrugged. “I haven’t catalogued all the hits yet, but I thought that one was yours.”

He snorted. “Fine then. How many all told last night?”

“Thres: yours, one of Doorman’s unders, and a new one.”

“Damn it! Why can’t Doorman keep his bogies under control?”

“Boss, I know you would rather beat up on Doorman, but I really think you should look at the new one.”

He glanced at her. The corners of her mouth were pulled down in a disapproving frown. Her nose and face were regally carved, proudly displaying her pure European stock. She had been with him since before the renaissance, but aside from a few scars on her forehead, she didn’t seem to have aged at all.

“You already have pictures?”

“It was down an alley off of Main and Center. I’m not the only one with pictures.”

He cussed again. “Are the papers covering it?”

“Of course. They claim it’s a warning left by the ‘cult.’”

“Pictures, Maggie! Let me see them!”

She brought up three photographs. They were all aerial, meaning Maggie had taken the risk of sending out an imp with her prized digital camera.

The demon leaned in close, counting the strokes and curves of the bloody design that meant nothing to anyone except another demon. The young girl-victim was covered in the patterns from her buttocks to her shoulders. As numbers, letters, and words coalesced in the demon’s mind and began to match up with his arcane knowledge he began to swear.

“Boss?” interrupted Maggie.

“There’s at least twelve seals and keys on her, if not – no I’m sure,” he said, jabbing the screen. “There are thirteen.”

Maggie bit her lip. “Isn’t that how many you use, Boss?”

He froze. “You’re not supposed to know that.”

“Conozco, Boss, pero…”

“We’ll worry about it later,” he said, but he was very upset. If Maggie learned too much he might have to get rid of her, and he really, really didn’t want to do that. “When was it done?”

“About four de la manana.” She said.

“I was asleep then. Crap.”

“Boss, if he uses the same number of seals –“

“You keep that to yourself, you hear!” he snapped. She shuddered under the power he was exuding. He tried to pull it back in, but damn it, he was angry.

“Por supuesto, boss. I shouldn’t have said anything, but… does it mean he’s the same level as you?”

“Of course it does, bitch!”

He watched her go pale and clamped down on his aura again. He closed his eyes and counted to one hundred, slowly, in Hebrew. When he opened his eyes, Maggie was still there, watching him intently.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “But you shouldn’t know how many seals I use, nor should you know that this other demon is of the same level.”

“Boss, promoto, I won’t tell…”

He shook his head. “I don’t think it’ll be good enough this time, Maggie.”

She curled up in fear. She knew he was strong enough to kill her in a single motion.

I don’t want to, he thought. Damn the devil, and damn us angels for following him! He hung his head in thought. There might be a way to save her, but I’ll need to do some reading…

“I want some eagles out looking for this guy. Get Nibs on the grapevine, see if we can get a history or a name on him.”

She swallowed and uncurled a little. “Whatever you say, Boss,” she said, panting wide enough to show her teeth.

“I’ll be in the library.”

He began to pour over several of the oldest tomes in his private library, but, as he had expected, the answer wasn’t there. He tried one from the mid 1700s and produced a name of an expert in mind control. He spent an hour searching in the stacks for the man, and then settled into another book that looked promising.

Maggie came in another hour later, thoroughly subdued, but worried.

“Boss, Nibs is here…”

He glanced up. “Already?”

She swallowed. “Apparently our invadirdora is not trying to hide from you.”

He frowned in concern. “Send Nibs in, but hang around. I want to talk to you after.”

She nodded and turned to admit the Bogart. He appeared to them now as a two-foot tall person with, for amusement’s sake, little green pants and a green hat. He jumped up on the table, bowed, and quickly began to speak.

“I’m sorry to say that he’s a bright one. He has at least three taps in my group already.”

“You can get Maggie the details later.” He said with a glance at the vampire. “For now, I just want to know all I can about him, who he is and what he wants.”

The bogart scratched the side of his head. “He’s a strange fish, this one. He calls himself Moribund.”

“Say what?” the demon said, sitting up straight. “He’s letting me know his name?”

The Bogart nodded, bouncing a little as he did so. “I doubt it’s his real name, but still, after twenty - ”

“Twenty usages a name has power over you, I know.” The demon bit his lip in agitation. This Moribund, was he as confident as that, to let his name fall so easily into enemy hands? He could just be an idiot.

Only among the devil’s angels, no idiots lived long enough to use the full thirteen seals.

“Keep going, nibs.”

“He’s got at least two minions, who are native to Australia. The rest of his horde - ”

The demon swore. “He would bring his whole horde.”

“Consists of more than fifty members, mostly witches and skinwalkers.”

“And they’re openly here.”

“Yes.”

He threw his head back in frustration. “Damn. So, what in hell does he want?”

“Boss…”

He looked at the little green man. “What?”

“He’s been making posts on all sorts of internet boards.”

The demon snorted. “Still haunting the wires, I see. Well?”

“The problem is, it’s coded, and, frankly, I haven’t yet finished decoding for it.”

“Damn!” he slammed his fists down on the table. “Nibs, I want your whole team on it, you hear?”

“Yes boss.” The Bogart hopped off the table and left.

“Maggie, I want to get all of the imp’s wing up. I need detailed information of names, residences, and other such nonsense of his minions and horde – and I want an exact count of them by the end of the week.”

“Yes, boss,” she said, much more reserved, and turned to go.

“Maggie!”

She froze, her hand on the door handle. Sweat ran down her pale face as she turned and looked at him.

“Come here.”

She obeyed, walking with her hands tightly clasped in front of her. She stopped exactly three paces from him, and stood ramrod straight. He noted her posture, reflecting that it was a carryover from her days a Lady Marguerite of Madrid, before she had become a vampire.

“How did you know I use thirteen seals?”

“You always tell me how many seals an intruder uses,” she said quietly, “ and… well, I think I found a correlation in the patterns. I figured, well guessed really, and then this Moribund showed up, and his seals look a lot like – “

“Enough!”

He looked at her, carefully, before he raised a single finger at her and muttered a single, loathsome word.

Maggie fell to the ground in a blinding flash of light, where she began to writhe, hands tangled in her hair. The demon stayed absolutely still, finger outstretched, while his eyes followed her figure around the floor. Maggie tried to scream, but it came out as a gulping, strangled noise. After a minute or two, she began to try to crawl to the door. Her efforts punctuated her blind, mad writhing in an almost rhythmic pattern, but she never managed to move more than a single hand or foot at a time.

She almost made it the six meters to the door when she suddenly collapsed and became still. The demon lowered his hand and went limp in his chair. His face was sprinkled with sweat, and he panted gently with the effort.

Eventually he stood up and walked over to her. He bent down, balancing on the balls of his feet. He reached a hand forward and felt for her pulse, but felt nothing.

The problem with the undead is you can never tell if they’re alive, he thought as he reached for her earlobe and twisted.

She stirred and then came abruptly awake. With a startled squeak, she tried to pull away, but ran into the doorway. She stopped, her eyes wide with terror. The demon reached out a hand to touch her shoulder, but she curled up and shrank back in an attempt to get away.

“Maggie,” he said, trying to clam her. “Maggie, say something.”

Her eyes suddenly lit up with very real anger. Lovely, eloquent and bitter words rolled off her tongue in her native language with such speed the demon was forced to smile a bit.

“All of it certainly true, madam. Now tell me why I’m angry at you.”

She opened her mouth, held it open, closed it, opened it again, and closed it again.

“Yo no se!” she said in very real distress.

“Good,” he said with grim satisfaction. “Now, what did I ask you to do?”

“Solimente to get the imps looking for – “

“Shh! Don’t say his name unless you have to. I’ve got some sneaking suspicions as to why he gave us his name.”

“Yes Boss,” she whispered.

“Go get busy. I want you on the job until seven – not a minute more!”

Maggie pulled the collar of her jacket up higher, trying the shut out the sudden gust of wind. She didn’t often go to Torino’s, but after what she had experienced today…

Torino’s was a bar on the border between her boss’s territory and that belonging to the Demon known as Doorman. Known for its neutrality, Torino’s was a place where many of the middle and high abominations could meet and converse. The building was owned by her boss, but Doorman made it a point to frequent it often enough that he became known as a ‘treasured’ customer.

Oddly enough, the family that owned it was made up of entirely normal humans, although they all knew when to keep their eyes and ears to themselves.

She entered the door under the blue and yellow neon lights and glanced around the interior.

The red burbur carpet showed wear, especially around the five round, oak tables. Doorman was in his customary spot by the door, allegedly to help his claustrophobia. He looked, presently, like a wealthy businessman, and had the bulge in his middle to support that assumption.

He nodded to her and smiled. She snorted and stuck her nose in the air. Even as a mortal, she had been too good to even acknowledge the existence of a pimp.

She was so busy ignoring him as she walked to an empty stool at the bar that she almost didn’t hear the girl’s comment.

“What does an old wolf like that think he’s going to get here?”

Maggie straightened, but tried her best not to look like she had seen a ghost. She turned and carefully regarded the blonde woman beside her.

She was thin, with long arms and neck, too long to be considered attractive. Her hips were bony, and she had too little bust. But her face was an exercise in moderation. Not really round or pointy, certainly not square, it held a nose that might have been a little prominent, but it was a mater of opinion. Blue eyes were large enough to be plainly seen, but they didn’t dominate the nose or the smiling, none-too plump, but pleasantly red, mouth.

Exactly as Maggie had remembered her.

“Excuse me,” said Maggie, “But have we met?”

The smile grew broader. “No. My name’s Kristina Arson.”

“Maggie Johnson,” she replied, successfully keeping the tumult of emotions out of her voice. She raised a single eyebrow. “Arson?”

“Not the most pleasant of surnames, is it?”

The bartender walked over. He was the owner of the business, but he made it a point to make sure he knew most of his customers by name.

“Maggie! Haven’t seen you in a while. Your boss called in, said you could put tonight on his tab.”

“Excellent, ‘cause I’m planning on getting wasted.” Maggie replied grimly.

“That bad, huh?”

“And getting worse,” she muttered to herself in Spanish, glancing at the girl beside her.

“So what’ll you want?”

“I don’t care, Ry. Just make sure it comes strong. With a lemon.”

Ryan chuckled and began to pour the drink. Maggie tried to calm her racing thoughts and figure out what to do about the girl next to her. When the glass appeared in front of her, she took a swift pull and put it back down, carefully clutching it tight in her hand. She was strong enough that she could break it if she wasn’t careful.

Kristina nursed her own drink and sighed. “So, what is it in life that’s got you down?” she asked, poking at an ice cube.

“Work. My boss and I had a major mix-up today.”

“Fired?”

Maggie chuckled in spite of herself. “No, he wouldn’t fire me.” Briefly she considered the chaos that would overtake the horde if the Boss did dispose of her. “I’m too valuable to the company.”

“Mmm,” the blonde replied, taking another sip. “Wish a starving artist like myself could find that kind of job security.”

She’s still an artist, Maggie thought, trying carefully to line up her facts. She had to forcefully push the image of the girl painting pentagrams in the church back so she could think. That had been hundreds of years ago. She chugged the rest of her drink and stuck the lemon slice in her mouth, sucking on it while Ryan refilled the glass.

“So, what about you?” the vampire asked around the lemon rind.

“School-friend recommended this place. Said people here know their own business.”

“No offense, but you can’t be hit on that often.”

“None taken, but this whole last week, I couldn’t seem to find an end of offers.”

A chill ran down Maggie’s spine. She had no idea why.

“Seeing anyone?” she asked, trying to sound blasé.

“No,” Kristina said, now sucking on her ice cube. “I prefer to meet men outside of a bar.”

“Wise.” Maggie’s drink had reappeared. She and Kristina drank in silence for a while. Maggie found the bottom of her glass, and pushed it back for a refill.

“Last one,” she said. She turned to Kristina and lowered her voice to a warning tone.

“Listen, I know we just met, but take – “

“Heeyy, little pretty,” Doorman said as he sauntered up to them. He leered evilly at Kristina. “Wanna come over to my table? I’ll buy.”

Maggie swiftly noted the faces at Doorman’s table. They watched with amused smiles. None of them were good company for a young, human girl.

“No, I’m fine,” Kristina said with a smile.

“Oh, but I insist!” he said, reaching toward her.

Maggie intercepted the hand with inhuman speed. She slapped it back and quickly put herself between the demon and the girl.

“Don’t even think about it,” she advised coolly.

Doorman shook his hand and glowered at her. “It’s not like he has any claim on her anymore. I’ve a right to take a mouse as walks into my trap – “

“He owns the building, and the land. If you want to set up a trap, do it next door.”

A shuffling sound from another table made Doorman think twice about arguing. He scowled and took a step back.

“Fine, but this isn’t the end of this.” He walked out the door, and his companions filled out after him.

Maggie took a deep breath and turned back to Kristina.

“As I was saying, take my advice. Don’t come back here.” The girl regarded her with wide eyes. “There are to many who would be glad to take advantage of you. Because that is their business.” She grabbed her now-full glass, and chugged it down.

“Adios,” she said, and she walked out the door.

He was deep in conversation with an imp right around seven thirty, having relieved Maggie and insisted that she go out on a trip to the bar on his tab. He doubted she would drink much, but it would do her good to get out – at least, as out as the higher demons and abominations ever get.

“So let me get this straight – he’s actually commuting here from Australia on daily basis?”

“So! So!” said the exited imp, his wings pumping him up and down in the air. “Many times, today, many people!”

The demon chewed on that for a moment. Imps weren’t the brightest, but they were very observant, and had the extra benefit of being invisible to most of the human population.

“So, not just one but many, and they come and go a lot.” He mused a bit before he spoke again. “Is it a gate?”

“Gate? What gate is?”

“Gate, large, pentagram.”

“With bubbles?”

“What!” said the demon.

“Bubbles!” said the imp certainly. “Big, boiling, up to the ceiling, pop!”

“Of all the – “ he grabbed for the phone and quickly dialed in the number for the local shop of the occult.

“Mother’s Mysteries, how can I help you?” said a teenage voice in a dry monotone.

“Jack, it’s me.”

Silence continued on the other end for several seconds.

“Go away, demon, I want none of it.”

“Jack listen to me!” he said. “I’m not making an offer! I need to know if you’ve sold any of the following items lately.”

“I want nothing to do with the devil!”

“Damn it, man, I’ve got a intruding demon!”

“You demons do as you please, I want nothing of it, I said!”

“Kid, he’s given me his name!”

More silence on the other end. “Unholy War.” He said finally.

“You going to help?”

“Let me get a pen.” There was some shuffling on the other end. “Ok, I’m ready.”

“Bone chalk; orange leaves; liquid mercury – “

“Don’t carry that. You need a license.”

“Noted. Sea-salt; an amber stone; victim’s blood.”

“Don’t carry that last either.”

“Bullshit. You get a shipment from Doorman once a month.”

“You really are the biggest boss, aren’t you?”

“In the state. This new one, though, he worries me.”

“Damn. This is a summoning spell, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Did you sell any?”

“The bone chalk, amber, and victim’s blood were bought by three different people in the same day. Sea-salt is available at any high-end grocer and orange leaves, if you don’t mind, grow on trees. Lots of people keep blood oranges as decorative plants.”

“Those people who bought the stuff, who were they?”

“They all paid cash, but I took their names and zip code.”

“I’m going to send an imp over. Ah, could I see your security footage?”

“I’ll e-mail you a copy. I still got your address.”

“Thanks. I might need to talk to you again.”

“Is it really Unholy War?”

“I think so, but I’m not sure.”

“God help us.” He hung up.

Maggie walked in around nine, looking paler than when she left. She found the demon bent over her computer, working hard. He glanced up as she approached.

“When was the last time you fed?” he asked, very much the taskmaster.

“It’s been a week. Boss, there’s – “

“Go get a victim. I’ve got things nailed down here.”

“Boss, I’ve got bad news.”

“That Moribund is going to wage Unholy War?”

She paused. “Say that again?”

He grabbed a sheet of paper and held the paper out to her without looking. “Read it yourself. It’s one of his posts.”

To: masacrelords@fornm.net

From: littlegreenman@notmail.com

Subject: codecs and other such nonsense.

Message:

Boss, I got it done. This fish just gets weirder and weirder. It was a 3-part algorithm with each factor being a multiple of six. Details attached, if you’re interested. It looks like all his posts are identical. As follows.

TO THE OVERLORD OF THE CITY IN MY CONCERN, YOUR TIME AS HIS ANGEL IS COMING TO A CLOSE. FORGET NOT YOUR OATHS. THUS SAITH YOUR CONQERER.

Maggie looked up at the demon, who was busily trying to clean up the footage from Mother’s Mysteries on the computer.

“He’s already got a summoning circle set up in a warehouse downtown. Ziggy says we’ve got plenty of liquid cash, but an engagement at this level is still going to put us in the red, I think.”

He stopped typing and leaned back. He lost the busy energy he had had before, and now looked several generations older than he was.

“How many will we kill this time, I wonder,” he whispered.

“You aren’t…” she paused as his eyes rolled in her direction, “…aren’t planning on taking on minions again, are you?”

He didn’t answer. He just sat, impassive, unseeing, but not, she knew, uncaring.

“Boss, you can’t…”

“But I might have to. He’s stronger than I first thought.”

“But after last time…” she stopped herself, afraid of setting him off. He scared her. He scared them all. But the truth was that, for one of the Devil’s Angels, he was kind, merciful, and caring.

And now he sat watching her, looking thoroughly deflated in the chair.

“Boss,” she said, brushing his arm with her hand – it was all the contact she could stand after today – “we’re all behind you, all the way.”

He snorted. “Bull. You know I no longer take any joy in thwarting God. And most of the horde still takes orders from the old snake himself. I know he’s been trying to undermine me for a while.” He lowered his eyes. “I think that this whole thing might even be his doing.”

“Boss!”

“Don’t ‘boss’ me.” He sighed. “I might even be glad to go to the hot seat if I wouldn’t take so many damned people with me.”

She stood, speechless. Never, in the centuries she had been working with him had she ever seen him so depressed. Certainly, these last hundred years or so, he had not been really happy, but what could you expect from a demon who had foresworn the devil?

“You were saying something as you came in?” he said, regaining a little (but oh, so little!) of his previous vivacity.

She swallowed. She couldn’t tell him, not now.

“It’s nothing important.”

He glanced up at her as he reached for the mouse of the computer. “You’re lying. Oh well. After today, I can’t imagine you would unless you had a very, very good reason.” She stood silently, not even daring to breathe.

“Go get yourself a victim. You look pale.”

“Yes, Boss,” she said, turning away.

“Don’t take too long, I’m going out as soon as you get back.”

As she left the room, she did something she had not done in eons.

Dios, she prayed silently, Please spare a thought for this, the most kind of the Devil’s claim. He deserves it, he really does. De la nombre de Jesu Christo, amen.

But she felt nothing in return, save a shudder at having to use the Lord’s name. God hears all men, but he holds no guarantees for vampires.

It was cold. He lay in a pool of something wet. Blood? Yes, blood. His blood? Most likely, but it didn’t matter. He was dead, already half way to the hotseat.

He felt something on his back, pressing the deep gashes. He tried to move away, but he could barely flick his angular ears. He tried to cry out, whine, make some sort of noise, but it took all of his effort just to keep breathing.

“Hold still,” her voice whispered. “I won’t hurt you.”

The hell she wouldn’t. What minion, given the chance, wouldn’t kill the demon they were beholden to?

She pulled him closer and lifted him onto her lap. His shallow breath began to quicken in anticipation of the end. He waited, while she shuffled around with something to the left of him.

Now she was wrapping something tightly around his abdomen, grunting and groaning as she struggled to lift the weight of his immortal body. What was she doing, he wondered. What possible benefit could she gain?

She tucked the end of the wrap under itself and began on his arm and hand. He began to feel well enough to open one of his eyes for a brief moment. He saw her, absolutely soaked from the sea spray, wrapping white gauze around his sticky, blood-covered hand. He closed his eye again, and, as his confusion added to his exhaustion, drifted into unconsciousness.

He stood on the street corner, watching and being watched sometime the next day. He watched as the object of his intention left the house, climbed into a black outback, and drove south. He considered following but decided against it, instead walking in the opposite direction.

He came to a park, where he sat down on the bench and watched the comings and goings, noting with perfect recall who each of the strangers were, and whether they were something less than human.

Later that day he walked the business district. He saw Doorman passing the other way, and eyed him carefully, receiving more of the same.

He ducked into an alley two blocks away, stashed his clothes, and changed into a seagull. The falcons were more to his liking, but gulls were always around, and their eyes were good enough for his purposes.

He flew up over the largest buildings, picked up a thermal, and rose high above the city.

He studied the ground, mentally placing the summoning circle, four occupied buildings, and the residences of the three minions. Mentally he reflected that it had been easier in the old days. A horde of a few hundred could spread themselves over miles of countryside, keep tags on all the humans in all of the cites in that territory, and still stay out of sight and mind. But now, it was impossible for one master demon to hold any of the larger cities. The horde was lucky if their master managed a fraction of that.

Of course, he had two boroughs under his thumb, but he was an old hand at the ancient games of corruption.

Having completed his rounds, he returned to his home, landing in the small yard behind the plain-whitewashed building. The two-bed, one-and-a-half-bath flat was actually situated on several entrances to various underground tunnels, most leading to sewer lines, one leading to the subway line, and yet another leading to an old farm many miles out of town. That tunnel dated back to the Underground Railroad.

He changed, put on an extra set of clothes he always had stashed back there, and went inside. Maggie was going through a number of files and writing a series of phone numbers and addresses on a sheet of paper. He recognized them as a list of his most trusted fighters, ranging from traditional vampires, like Maggie, to the more modern shadowalkers and geists. The computer was busy downloading the most recent, most detailed maps of the city one could buy, or in all likelihood, steal.

He walked over to the computer and looked at it.

“Military maps. This Hunter’s work?”

“No, this is actually from the new kid, ah, Franz.”

“The shadowalker?”

“Si.”

“Oh. The shadowalkers are getting to be useful. I’ll have Mark make sure he gets moved up.”

“That wise?”

“It’s Unholy War. We need some shakeups to get the horde out of its comfort zone.”

“As you say.”

“How are we on hired forces?”

“If we split up your best, we can handle almost twelve thou hired hands.”

“I don’t want to split them all up.”

She paused. “You don’t?”

“No. I don’t.” he drummed his fingers on the computer table. “Damn it, I wish we had more intelligence. We haven’t any idea even what plan of attack he’s using.”

“Nibs is doing his best, and Hunter has be focusing on getting stuff too.”

“Still nothing.”

“Sorry.”

He flopped down on the couch and rubbed his head.

“All right, we talk it out then. First, motive. All right, what have I got he wants?”

“Two boroughs.”

“So? Chances are he’s got a far bigger chunk in Australia; with better resources to boot. Besides, if he wanted my territory, he’d have started moving in, taking more than four buildings. So scratch that.

“Um, money?”

He snorted. “There are far wealthier demons out there, many of them low-level. Skip it.”

“Uh, there’s prestige.”

“Possible. However, you don’t fight an inter-continental battle for prestige.”

“I’m out of ideas, Boss. He’s too young to hold you a grudge.”

“I’m not.” He replied. His comment hung in the air like a death sentence.

“Boss?”

“You said it yourself. He’s young. He’s full of vivacity, not long out of the training grounds.”

He looked sideways for no apparent reason.

“He’s probably still very loyal to Satan.”

“Boss,” she whispered, “Do you really think that this is His doing?”

“I’m certain.”

She looked forlorn. “Then we have no hope.”

“Probably not.” He sat up. “However, the devil is prone to misjudge both his allies and his enemies.”

“But he won’t give up.” She said, a touch of hysteria in her voice. “He’ll hunt us to our graves.”

The demon didn’t reply.

“Boss, what can you do?”

He muttered something that Maggie didn’t understand. She shook her head in confusion.

“I have to make the first move,” he said, rising. He glanced at the clock. “We have six hours till sundown. We’re going to make every one of them count.”

Letters were written.

Dear Mr. Hatch,

It would be our great pleasure to have you speak on the 21^st of August 2019 at our annual business dinner. If it could be arranged we would also like a demonstration of your skills at the luncheon beforehand. Please respond ASAP.

Packages were sent and transactions made. Businessmen of all levels conferred with each other.

“That’s right, the Golden Palm hotel, tomorrow night. Yes sir, just show your card to the doorman.”

As the sun began to sink in the sky, other, more sinister transactions took place. Those lower demons and abominations that didn’t dare show their faces in the day came out and exchanged information.

The owner of the Golden Palm hotel received a call from the city that the hotel would have to be without power the next day for emergency work on the power grid. Grumbling and cussing, he obediently arranged to have all of his tenants moved to competitors’ hotels.